I set the cave aside, then reach into my bag and pull out the small pack of fresh wood shavings I’d brought with me.
Mark notices. “You came prepared.”
“I was worried this might happen,” I admit. “He doesn’t travel well.”
“Clearly.”
We both chuckle, because honestly, what else are you supposed to do with this level of absurdity?
I refill the cage, spreading the shavings evenly, rebuilding something that looks vaguely like a safe space again.
The cave will have to wait.
I glance at Mark. “Can I—”
He steps closer immediately, handing the beanie over without a word.
I set it carefully into the cage, nestling it slightly into the shavings.
Gently I lift the top and peek into the opening.
Heath is curled into the fabric, completely still.
Asleep.
“That’s…” I pause. “That’s actually a good sign.”
Mark leans in slightly beside me. “Yeah?”
“He shouldn’t be asleep,” I say. “He’s nocturnal. But after that anxiety attack, I’ll take it. Means he’s calmed down.”
“Good.”
I straighten, reaching for the small container of food, scattering a bit into the corner, then topping up his water.
Routine.
Normality.
Or something close enough to it.
I rest my hand briefly against the edge of the cage, watching the beanie for another second.
“He’s all right,” I say, more to myself than anything else.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then the quiet shifts. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just… aware. Like the room has caught up with what just happened and isn’t entirely sure what to do with it.
I become suddenly, acutely conscious of myself.
Of my hands. Of the faint smell lingering on my skin.
I huff out a small breath, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. “I probably smell like hamster,” I say. “Which is not how I imagined tonight going, if I’m honest.”
Mark’s mouth curves slightly.
“Come here,” he says.
